


Forgiveness

by Portaljumper339



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portaljumper339/pseuds/Portaljumper339
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mighty Executor gets a visit from a very old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a quick bit I decided to write after a particularly good RP I had, so don't judge it too harshly, please. Any constructive feedback would be much appreciated.

The lone Expatri8 sat at his desk, poring over his books and his studies. It had been many a long sweep since his ultimate failure, since he had made the mistake that ruined him. Sparing that olive blooded wretch was his greatest folly, but it did provide him with the time he needed to think and study the workings of the hemospectrum and his place in it. He would need this knowledge if he were to ever get back in the good graces of the aristocracy, and to ensure he never let his pity get the better of him again.

"Hmm... So not all purple bloods are Subjugglators, but one must be a member of the caste to become one," he mused to himself. "Fascinating. I had always assumed they allowed any who followed that religion of theirs to join the Order, but it seems I was mistaken. Fascinating indeed."

Looking up from his work, he gazed longingly out the window of his home, his gilded cage. The mountains of the Alternian deserts rolled away into the distance, and the stampedes of hoofbeasts kicked up many a dust cloud. The twin moons peeked out from behind the clouds, their green and purple light casting an ethereal glow on the landscape. It had a serene beauty, but Darkleer could not appreciate it.

It was the same landscape, the same moons, the same damnable view that he had seen for countless sweeps beforehand. The mountains never changed, and the moons always stayed as they were. The outside world had rejected him long ago, so he chose to reject its entreaties as well.

Lifting up his old bow from his days as an Archeradicator and slinging his quiver across his back, he made his way to his training area. Dummies were set up all along the far wall, awaiting the cold sting of his arrows as they hit home. Just as they had yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, going back dozens and dozens of sweeps. He always made sure that he stayed in practice, and the drones that had assisted in building this compound for him were kind enough to oblige him with a practice area and some furnishings.

At least they had been when he forcibly rewired them to allocate more resources to him than he really required, but in this case the ends justified the means.

The old E%ecutor nocked and fired his first arrow in one lightning quick movement. The blue arrowhead dug itself deep into the practice dummy, right in the middle of its forehead. Barely registering his remarkable shot, he nocked up another and continued down the line, firing again and again until all of the dummies resembled oversized pincushions.

He returned to the first dummy for his last shot. Pulling the string taut, he let out a heavy sigh as he lined the shot up. The twang of the string, the whistle of the arrow's fletching, and then the sound of splintering wood as the arrow split the one that he had first fired.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. Third one this perigee. He would have to remember not to fire at the same spot twice, as he couldn't afford to waste a single arrow. It wasn't like there was anyone else who could provide him with more.

He set the massive bow down by the door and walked over to the dummies to retrieve his arrows. He removed them with the utmost care, as his copious strength had made him break them in two more than once in his life. After removing any stray bits of straw from the heads, he put them back in his quiver and went to gather up his bow.

"CRASH!!" A sound of metal striking the floor of his study made him jump and bang his horns against the ceiling. His heart pounded like a jackhammer as he listened intently for any other signs that his home was being invaded. A scuffling of feet and a hushed voice echoed through the halls, and he triangulated their points of origin.

Tapping the side of his helmet, he activated the heat-seeking vision mode that he had added to his helm's circuitry ages ago. One of the many things he did while tinkering around, and now proving quite useful. He scanned the walls of the training area until a bright orange splotch appeared on his heads-up display. It appeared to be roughly troll-shaped, and it looked like it was hunkered down over something.

Keeping his eyes trained on the orange spot, he silently crept towards his adversary in the study. He nocked up an arrow, ready to give whatever had invaded his home and disturbed his solitude a good reason to fear him.

He deactivated the heat-vision and braced himself for whatever was around the corner. Probably another one of those damnable Laughassassins, no doubt trying to get a chuckle out of an attempted murder of a disgraced noble. It would be like the Subjugglators to try and do something like this just for a kick. He let out a low breath and whipped around the corner, drawing his bow back and preparing to fire.

It was not a Laughassassin.

Crouched over one of his iron musclebeast statues, her face looking up at his with a mixture of surprise and humor, was The Disciple of The Signless One. Her green meowbeast pupils glinted with that same jungle-like quality that she had had all those sweeps ago, and it infuriated him.

"You!!" he cried out, stretching the string near to its breaking point. "How did you get in here!? I thought you were dead!"

"Darkleer," she cooed, getting up off the ground and sauntering over to him. "Always the bundle of joy, as purr the usual."

"Begone, wretched wench! You've made the mistake of your life coming here!"

"Well, excuse you, oh mighty E%ecutor," she retorted, pushing his bow down towards the floor. "Is this the way you treat an old friend?"

"If you think I am your friend in any respect, then you are sorely mistaken," he answered as he leveled his bow back at her face. "What do you want with me, you two bit harlot!?"

"Can't I have a pleasant conversation with the man who spared my life, even after taking my beloved's?" Her posture, her mannerisms... something wasn't right. She was never this cavalier at The Signless' execution. In fact, she had been begging for her life as he drew his bead on her.

"No, you may not," he said. "If you miss your beloved so much, then why don't I send you to meet him?" Without another word he released his fingers and sent the arrow whizzing through the air. All of his training, his sweeps of solitude, the anger he had bottled up inside of him at his own failings released itself in this one instant. He had done it; the highblood's will was done, and this oliveblood would finally die by his hands.

The arrow flew straight and true, right through her head and out the back of her skull where it clattered against the stone wall, only it had never hit her. The arrow passed through her as if she were made of a vapor, only a mild look of annoyance to indicate that she had even registered the deadly projectile's presence through her form.

"Whu- h-how did you..." stuttered Darkleer, at a total loss for words. His eyes must be playing a trick on him. Nocking another arrow from his quiver, he fired at the exact same spot, to the same end.

"No. This isn't happening! YOU CANNOT STILL BE ALIVE!!!" His anger finally breaking loose of its bonds, he let loose a rapid fire volley of arrows, one after the other with only the bluish blur of his arm to indicate that he was even manually aiming and firing them. Still she stood, rolling her eyes slightly as the time passed and as the arrows continued to fly straight through her.

After running out of his arrows the Expatri8 threw his bow to the far wall and took to punching her. Surely his prodigious strength would succeed where his bow had failed. He threw punch after punch, kick after kick, and yet none of them hit home. Every blow he tried to land on her passed through her as surely as the arrows had, and only when he finally exhausted his stores of energy did he stop, collapsing to his knees. His breathing was labored, but his hatred burned with the light of ten thousand suns as he stared up at her.

"Are you quite finished, Horuss?" She asked, folding her arms and tapping her foot.

"Y-you do not call m-me by th-that name," he choked out. "I am E%ecutor Da-Darkleer to the likes of y-you."

"Call yourself whatever you like, you'll always be little Horuss Zahhak to me." She knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder, lifting up his chin so she could look him in the eye. "You know, I've found out quite a few things about you since that day, since I went into hiding. Especially since I died."

"What? What do y-you mean, heathen?" He asked, pushing her hands away.

"I'm dead, silly, and so are you," she answered, knocking him playfully on the helmet. Even as she said these things, her eyes changed from olive green with yellow sclera to a pure milky white.

Darkleer's anger burned all the brighter at these blatant lies. Leave it to an oliveblooded scumbag to try and pull one over on him with a cheap parlor trick. His jagged teeth gritted together, and he smacked her across the face. The force of the blow sent her slight figure flying across the room, landing near to where he threw down his bow. A green tinged bruise was already starting to form as he trudged over to her, his towering form overshadowing hers.

"Horuss... please..." She pleaded as pale green tears streamed down her face, "you have to remember. In another life, we were friends! We were moirails! Please, you must believe me!"

"LIAR!" he bellowed. "I know not of what you speak! Why do you seek to redeem yourself with these hollow lies and shallow gestures!? I will not make the same mistake twice, maggot! Prepare to see your beloved, and send him my regards."

He raised his spiked boot up, ready to crush her head and end his own nightmare. How long he had waited for this day, the day when he could finally exact his vengeance. It felt better than anything he had ever dreamt of.

"Horuss... I'm sorry, but I have to make you see," she whispered.

Calling upon her animalistic nature and her sweeps of living in the wild, The Disciple rolled out of the way of Darkleer's boot. She then jumped up into a crouch and leapt upon his back, a white ethereal glow exuding from both of her palms. She scrambled up out of the way of the raging blueblood's fists and towards his head, where she grasped a hold of his skull. The white energy in her palms created a series of jagged white lines across the old E%ecutor's face, where they converged at his eyes.

A thousand thoughts flashed before Darkleer's eyes, and yet he was somehow able to process them all. He saw a young, happy couple sitting under the light of a single purple moon. A girl in a black skirt and a green blouse, wearing the Disciple's sign, and a boy with a helmet, goggles, and a brown smock, his belt buckle adorned with Darkleer's own sign in his own blood color. She smiled playfully, and he smiled back. They played in the light of the moon, climbed trees together. He stood by her side when she was sad, and she by his. He defended her from menacing forces, and she calmed him during his outbursts of rage. And yet, there was always one overriding emotion, one that permeated all of the memories - for that is surely what was being shown to Darkleer.

Happiness.

It had been so long since Darkleer had ever felt happiness. For as long as he could remember, all he ever felt was hatred, shame, guilt, and a burning desire for revenge. To think that something so simple as the company of another, for the moirailligance that these two young ones shared, could bring him what he had been missing for so long.

As the thoughts faded and the white lines receded from his face, Horuss collapsed to the ground. The Disciple - no, that wasn't right. In the memories, he had called her Meulin, Meulin Leijon. Meulin climbed down off of Horuss' back and gave him some space. He removed the helmet that he had called his own for so long and threw it away from him. It didn't feel right to wear it anymore, not after seeing what the other Horuss had worn. He brought his hands to his face as the tears began to fall, staining his face pale blue.

"Now do you see Horuss?" asked Meulin. "Now do you understand?"

"Why... Why did you show me this?" 

"You had to know, Horuss. You had to know that I- that we- were never the enemy. A long time ago our planet was much different. The castes did not see each other as different simply based on something as trivial as blood color. The highbloods did not subjugate the lower castes, but cared for and protected them, and we prospered as one. It was everything my beloved ever wanted. To think that it could have been so close, just under our noses this whole time..."

The noble highblood's mind was reeling. It went against every fiber of his being, every lesson he had ever been taught... and yet he knew, deep in his heart and soul, that it was all true. His mind was waging a war against himself, and he could not help his own anger. Face stained pale blue and hands soaked in tears, he rose to his feet and turned to face Meulin. As fast as he would have nocked an arrow, he crossed the room and lifted Meulin by her throat as his face contorted in rage.

"Why did you show me this!?! WHY!?!" His fury was beyond measure, and was only exacerbated by his confusion.

"Hor... Horuss..." she choked, "st-stop!"

"NO! I will not stop, Meulin, not until you answer me. Why did you show me these things? I was content to live in blissful ignorance, content to spend the remainder of my long sweeps in isolation. I had disgraced my name and my sign, and I was willing to pay due penance for it. Then you come traipsing in here, tell me that I am dead, and then have the GALL to show me a life where none of what I had done, none of what I had sacrificed for the glory of the empire, mattered."

"You... you ha-ad to know-w," she wheezed, face turning pale green from lack of air.

"No, I did not! That life, and that world, are forever lost to me because of what I did. Don't you get it Meulin? Don't you understand? I had found peace with my lot in life, and you took that peace away! I WILL NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN BECAUSE OF YOU!!" His final, pained roar echoed in the old halls, and exhausted what little emotional strength he had left. Unable to deal with the weight of what had been revealed to him, he dropped Meulin and returned to his desk. As she struggled to breath, he muttered to himself as he laid his head upon the desk.

A few minutes passed and tension hung thick in the air. When Meulin had finally regained the ability to speak, she stood up, grabbed a nearby footstool, and went to join Horuss at the table. His fists were tightly clenched and a vein on his temple appeared ready to burst. Still, despite these signs that he was a hair's breadth from snapping her spine like a twig, she laid a comforting hand across his back.

"Horuss, are you going to be okay?" she asked as she rubbed his back. A drop of sweat beaded down from her brow as he moved, afraid that he was going to strike her again. Instead, Horuss unclenched his hands and laid them flat on the table.

"No, I'm not Meulin. I haven't been 'okay' since I failed to kill you at his execution. I can't ever be 'okay' again, not after what I have seen and what I have done." He slowly lifted his head up, his long black hair draping down over his face.

"How do you do it, Meulin? How do you forgive so easily? Why can you not find it in your heart to hate me for what I did to him, and to you, and to all those you cared for?"

Meulin grasped his hands in hers, prompting him to look to her with his now white eyes. "It's simple, really," she answered. "I forgive you because of what hatred does to us all. Hatred is a plague, one that seeks to destroy all that is good and just in life. Hatred was the cause of all of our problems on Alternia. Hatred made the hemospectrum. Hatred made the subjugation of the lower castes common practice. Hatred is what killed my beloved. If I didn't forgive you for what happened so long ago, then I would only be spreading that hatred."

"So, really, I forgive you not because I wasn't hurt by what you did. In fact, what you did was the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. No, I forgive you to mend the wounds that hatred causes so that we can be happy again. So that you can be happy again. Does that make sense, Darkleer?"

Her words seemed so inspired, so genuine... Horuss couldn't help but be touched. For all his time spent in exile, he had pondered many a scenario where he could finally exact his vengeance and reclaim his role as a noble and a highblood. After hearing her forgiveness, though, he could only think of a single thing to say in response.

"No, please, call me Horuss," he answered, offering the first genuine smile that he had given in a hundred sweeps. "It does make sense, Meulin. For so long I was so angry, so devoted to the order, that I never stopped to think that what I was doing was affecting trolls other than the ones at the end of my arrows."

"But now, after hearing you forgive me like this, despite being the monster that I am, all I can offer is this; I'm sorry, Meulin. I'm sorry for the pain I have caused you." As the two of them stood up from the table, he grabbed her up into a tight hug, one which she was more than happy to reciprocate.

"Thank you Horuss. This means more to me than you may ever know. Come on," she added, leading him over towards the door, "there are some old friends that I want you to meet."

The door opened with a creak, allowing an almost blinding influx of light to enter into his old home. As his eyes adjusted he was able to make out a new landscape, one he had never seen before. It was a wide, windswept desert with several maroon windmills dotting the landscape. The soil of his home merged seamlessly with the sand, as if they had been together for all eternity.

Still, the new world before him paled in comparison to who was standing before him; a man in a grey cloak whose leggings were adorned with bright red accents, a rather tall fellow in a yellow and black jumpsuit whose hands crackled with red and blue energy, and a fair maiden with a dress of the most verdant jade. All three offered a friendly smile, as if greeting a long forgotten friend.

The man in grey was the first to speak. "Hello again, Horuss. I'm glad we could finally meet under better circumstances. I feel that we have quite a bit to talk about."

Horuss looked down to Meulin, who simply offered a simple head nod before letting go of his hand. It was all the prompting he needed.

"Yes, Kankri," he replied, having learned all of their names from the memories he had been shown, "I think we do have quite a bit to discuss. Lead the way."

As his former foe lead them out into the desert, Horuss took a lingering look back at his old domicile. It had been a place of refuge during a storm, but had come to harbor its own dark secrets. He would probably never see that old place again, never relive all of his living memories ever again. 

And that thought made him happy.


End file.
